


The Other Half Lives

by Purplechimera



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Murder, Remus Lupin Lives, Sirius Black Lives, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purplechimera/pseuds/Purplechimera
Summary: Remus and Sirius each have a twin.





	The Other Half Lives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chromat1cs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromat1cs/gifts).



> This spawned from a discord discussion about how Regulus should have been called Procyon, since Procyon is the brightest star in Canis Minor. We then got to talking, what if...what if...and here you go.  
> This is un-betaed, so if you find errors please let me know!  
> Please, please be careful with this. Several characters die, there is child abuse and death.

_The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ are common tales among wizarding families, and the legend of the Peverells and the Deathly Hallows among them. But there are some tales that Pureblood families keep close to themselves, and among them is a truth behind the death of the Peverell name.

Cadmus Peverell’s wife had twins, and that’s what killed her. Growing two babies at once pulled too much of her magic, and though her daughters survived, her magic and her life were drained from her. The Gaunts are descended from the elder daughter-the younger seems to have disappeared. Walburga’s mother told her that daughter was a squib.

“Never have twins, Walburga. They will do nothing but dilute your bloodline and bring you misery.”

That was the marriage advice her mother gave her, when she started courting. Walburga knew that it was up to her to bring her family line back to prosperity, and she clawed her way up the Pureblood ladder, bringing honor to her family when she secured a proposal from one Orion Black. Everything was perfect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#### November 2, 1959- 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington

Walburga curses under her breath as her swollen belly bangs into the credenza. Several crystal figurines tumble off the edge and shatter. She sighs and pulls out her wand, the figurines slotting back together and settling back into place. There is a small _crack_.

“Is Mistress okay?” A tiny house elf ushers Walburga to an armchair.

“Yes, yes, Sopsy, thank you.” She hisses through her teeth and shuts her eyes. When she opens them, Sopsy is peering up at her, exaggerated features full of concern.

“Should Sopsy be calling on the midwife?.”

“That’s not necessary, Sopsy. I’m-” her voice falters as her belly tightens. She takes a breath. “Yes, actually. Maybe you should.”

Walburga quickly loses track of time, focusing on breathing through her contractions. Sopsy helps her back into her bedroom, and at some point, her midwife arrives.

“You’re doing great, Mrs. Black. Deep breaths, just like that.”

She’s leaning on her chest of drawers, long fingers clawing at the carved relief of the Black family crest. She can hear voices, and it takes all her concentration to focus on the deep voice of her husband.  
'  
“This is taking a long time.”

“We cannot rush these things, Mr. Black. She’s doing fine. It will take as long as it takes.”

Sopsy presses a cool cloth to her face. Walburga is overwhelmed with the loss of control-she’s never lost control of her body in her life. She feels her eyes prickle, and she tries to forbid Sopsy from ever speaking of the tears, but she can’t make her voice work. Idly, she wonders if legilimency works on house elves.

The clock chimes 3AM as the midwife presses a wide-eyed newborn into Walburga’s arms. 

“Congratulations! It’s a boy.” She brushes a strand of dark hair away from his eyes. Walburga looks down as the baby nuzzles toward her chest.

“Hello, my star,” she whispers. Then she looks up. “Please send in my husband.”

The midwife’s face flashes pity. “It’s not over yet, love. You have to deliver the placenta.” Horror floods through Walburga, and the midwife pats her thigh. “Don’t worry, love. These contractions aren’t nearly as bad.” She waves her wand to replace the sheets between Walburga’s legs. Sopsy disappears with the blood-stained ones.

A wave crashes through her body, and she nearly cries out. “I thought you said these would be easier!”

The midwife frowns. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#### November 3, 1959- 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington

Orion frowns. It’s been over an hour since Sopsy presented him with a raven feather and announced he had a son. “I want to see my son!” He announces to the empty room. 

There's a small noise behind him, and he turns heel to find a young, terrified looking woman wearing green nurse robes. He frowns at her.

“You are not Walburga's midwife.”

Her hands are shaking. “Ah, no sir. I was called in as emergency assistance-”

“My son. Is my son alright?”

She blinks at him.

“And Walburga?” He adds.

“Yes sir. She's had twins.”

It's Orion's turn to blink now. “Twins?”

“Yes, sir. Their heartbeats sync, sometimes, and it can be difficult to-” she drones on, and he tunes her out, taking a sip of his firewhisky. There's a lull, and he grunts.

“I would like to see my sons, now. And my wife.”

She looks slightly terrified again. “You have a son and a daughter, sir.” She pales slightly. “Mrs. Black… We didn't know, about the twins. She hemorrhaged a lot. She's stable now, but she's going to need blood replenishing potions for a while.” She steps out of the doorway. “You may go in now, sir.”

He sweeps past her, up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Walburga is tucked into bed, a baby in each arm.

“You look like a vampire.”

The midwife looks at him sharply. “She’s lost a lot of blood, Mr. Black.”

Orion ignores her, and stalks to his wife’s side. He peers down at the babies-the boy is asleep; the girl starts to cry. He waves his wand, casting the spell to link them to the tapestry in the front parlor.

“Sirius Orion and Procyon Canis. Welcome to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#### March 10, 1960-Blessing Way, Barking

Hope Lupin leaned against the doorframe, breathing slowly. Then she opened her eyes and glared up the stairs. “Lyall!” Footsteps thump upstairs. Hope jangles her keys and taps her foot. “Lyall, if you do not drive me to the hospital, I am going to call a taxi!”

“Coming dear!” Lyall thunders down the stairs, shrinking their hospital bag as he goes. Hope smiles, then closes her eyes to breathe through another contraction. When it passes, Lyall is right in front of her, frowning. “Are you sure-”

“Lyall Lupin, if you bring up Saint Mungo’s during this labor, I will box your ears. I am not a witch, and I will not go to a hospital for witches.” She thrusts the keys at him and waddles out to the passenger side. She pauses for another contraction, leaning against the car, face toward the sunrise.

True to his word, Lyall does not bring up Saint Mungo’s again. He stands in the corner of the hospital room, watching nurses bustle around and trying not to jump when the machines make noise. Seven hours later, they gaze in awe at their two boys, suckling at their mother’s breasts. Their tiny hands grasp each other, and, for a moment, Hope dares to dream that her Romulus and Remus will meet a better ending than their namesakes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#### Christmas Day, 1964-12 Grimmauld Place, Islington

Sirius wakes up to Procyon crawling into his bed. He automatically slides over, rolling onto his side and curling around her. For their fifth birthday, they were given separate beds, but Procyon still crawls in with Sirius every night. He rests his head on her hair, and wonders when her magic will show. But he won’t say anything-he knows his parents are watching her, too.

All at once, staring out at half the moon, Sirius remembers. Today is Christmas! He carefully extracts himself from Procyon’s grip and tries the bedroom door. Locked. He sighs and climbs back in bed-not time to get up, yet.

The next time he wakes up to Procyon back-lit by sunlight. “Snuffles!” She pounces on him. She named him Snuffles when they were three, because of the sounds he made while sleeping. He pokes Procyon on the side of her chest, right where he knows it tickles most. She shrieks and tumbles out of bed, then bounds back up. Their tussling continues for several minutes, until Sirius gasps out, “it’s Christmas, Pro!” and they tumble out the door. A portrait of their grandmother tuts disapprovingly at them, and they fall apart, their footsteps almost silent compared to a moment before. Sirius opens the door to their little brother’s room, and catches an armful of three-year-old Regulus.

“Happy Christmas, Sirius!” Sirius spins his brother around before passing him off to Procyon.

When they reach the landing, all three children freeze at the sound of their mother’s cutting voice.

“I will not have one in the house, Orion.”

“Darling, these things take time.”

“Five years?” Their mother’s voice echoed up the stairs. Sirius’s eyes shifted to Procyon, who looked paler than usual. Regulus’s eyes were bright with tears. Sirius pulled his socks up and lept down the stairs, landing in front of the parlor door with a loud thud. There was a tinkling of crystal, but no crash of breakage. The door to the parlor opened as Sirius straightened.

Christmas morning passes as expected-the children were slightly louder than usual, their parents were slightly more tolerant than usual. Eventually, the children are released to the den. Sirius tries to levitate their stuffed animals, and though he isn’t successful, they enjoy throwing them around the room anyway. 

They play a three-way game of Gobstones and Sirius is paying more attention to whether Procyon moved her pieces without touching them, so he gets more drenched than usual. He convinces her to climb on top of the armoire to tie a rope for a pulley, and she doesn’t even wobble.

When Regulus demands a game of ghost-in-the-graveyard, Sirius has time to plan. He thinks about his own displays of magic-the most overt ones always happened when he felt very strong emotions, like his body couldn’t hold all his feelings and the magic was the overflow. He spins around and Procyon freezes immediately; Regulus wobbles, but he doesn’t fall. Sirius turns back around. Surely, if anyone can pull magic out of Procyon, it’s Sirius. He knows her better than anyone in the world. He spins around again. Regulus topples over this time, and Procyon cheers before trading places with Sirius.

Procyon likes winning. Maybe, if Sirius helps her win something really hard, she will be so excited that the magic will pour out.

“Snuffles! You haven’t even moved!” Procyon has one hand on her hip, and she brushes her long black hair away from her face. “Stop thinking and play!”

He refocuses onto the Procyon in front of him. Tonight, he will come up with a plan. Tomorrow, he will make Procyon use magic.

Kreacher appears about an hour later. “Mistress is requesting you, young Mistress Procyon.” The twins rise as one, but Kreacher holds his hand in front of Sirius. “Just Mistress Procyon. Mistress is being very specific.”

Procyon shrugs and heads downstairs. Sirius wonders, but then Regulus is tugging on his hand, and they fall back into playing wizard-of-the-castle.

Kreacher delivers their afternoon snack, and Sirius’s hands start to itch. He’s never been separated from Procyon this long before. Regulus falls asleep in a pile of conquered dragons, and Sirius pads down the hall to their bedroom. There is only one bed. At first, Sirius is delighted-maybe their parents have decided that having two beds in unnecessary! But the room doesn’t feel back-to-normal, it feels wrong. Too empty, like the parlor, in the days after they’ve taken down the Christmas tree.

He leaps down the stairs to the landing, and finds his father in his study-but the door is open. Sirius is too focused on his task to notice, and he marches right up to his father’s desk.

“Where’s Procyon?”

Orion’s quill pauses in the air. “Not here.” He continues writing.

“Where is she?”

Orion doesn’t pause, this time. “Stop asking questions, Sirius. I’m busy.” By this time, Sirius has learned a dismissal, and he sulks out of his father’s study. He heads down to the kitchen. Kreacher is preparing tonight’s feast.

“Where’s Procyon?”

Kreacher squeaks, but doesn’t turn from the stove. “Master Sirius is needing to be minding his own self.”

Sirius feels like his skin is going to crawl off his body. “Fine. I’ll find her myself.”

“Mistress is resting in her room! Sirius is not to be bothering her!” Kreacher calls after him.

Sirius prowls the entire house, and Procyon is nowhere to be found. He’s figured out what’s wrong with their bedroom-Her armoire is missing. Kreacher calls him to dinner. His parents are already seated. The second course is being served when Sirius finally looks over his father’s shoulder at the family tree. Between his name and Regulus’, is a large, burned circle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#### February 16, 1965-Lavenham, Suffolk

Lyall could not be more proud of his sons. They are helpful and caring, brave and resourceful. They help him in the garden, digging holes for seeds. They jump on the sheets on washing day- Hope refuses to let him spell them clean. Remus does everything Romulus does, one step behind. When Romulus is the fearless leader, Remus is the tactician. Lyall never said anything to Hope, but he worried about Remus’s magic when the boys were babies. The Lupins aren’t one of the Sacred Twenty Eight, but they are still an old family, and old families harbor old rumors. 

Romulus showed his magic at their first birthday party-he set off his own fireworks out of excitement. Lyall, who had spent the last year watching Remus do everything second, doubled his watchfulness. Remus was fifteen months old when he turned his milk cup from red to blue, and Lyall breathed easily for the first time in nearly two years.

It is an unusually warm night for February. The full moon rises early, and Remus convinces their parents to let them play in the moonlight after dinner. The boys tramp through the hibernating garden rows, pretending to ride war hippogriffs. 

“Come on, Remus! There’s a troll on the other side of this tree!” Romulus waves his stick-wand and the oak tree that serves as their property marker. Remus puffs out his chest.

“No trolls will infiltrate our city, Auror! Rete!” He waves his own stick-wand in an passingly good imitation of Lyall conjuring fishing nets in the nearby stream. Romulus’ cheers cause a flock of birds to burst out of the tree line. A low growl answers, and the boys freeze.

“Was that a real troll?” Romulus’ eyes are glued to the treeline, but Remus keeps looking back toward the house. He tugs his brother’s sleeve.

“Come on.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Romulus, come on, let’s get Da.” They argue for a moment before Romulus gives in. They turn toward the house. 

Remus hears a twig snap, and turns back to see a monstrous, shaggy grey form, fangs glinting in the light of the full moon. He tries to scream, but his voice seems to be broken. The fangs sink into Romulus’s neck, and the blood that hits Remus’ arm feels like it’s burning. Jagged claws rend Romulus’ cloak. Remus feels like he is under water, like the time he fell in the lake and Romulus had to drag him out.

There’s an overwhelming pain in his ribcage, and his ears are ringing with the sounds of screaming. It must be Romulus screaming, because Remus can’t breathe. There’s a bright flash, and the overwhelming pain subsides, though he is still in agony.

“Remus!”

Someone is picking him up. His whole body is stiff and sticky. Did he get in Mama’s paints, again? He feels his da’s voice, rumbling into his body. Da is here. Everything is okay. He lets himself fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#### April 30, 1966-12 Grimmauld Place, Islington

Sirius is desperate. Regulus’ fifth birthday is in two days, and he has shown no signs of magic. The black spot between their names on the family tree seems to glare at him, and he is nearly overwhelmed with panic every time his parents call Regulus’ name.

Uncle Alphard is visiting. This is usually a cause for celebration, as he is the only adult who treats the children as more than family ornaments. Still, they are at Grimmauld Place, not Uncle Alphard’s apartment in Chelsea, so Sirius must resort to listening through a hole in the wall of the washroom. 

“I won’t have one in the house.” Walburga’s icy voice slides down Sirius’ spine. There’s a thump of a glass being set down.

“My darling sister. These things take time. Aunt Dorea didn’t show-”

“Yes, yes, and then she went and married that Potter fellow!”

“The Potters are a perfectly respectable family.”

Walburga made a noise of disgust, and Sirius could picture exactly what her face looked like-he heard that sound every time he said something she didn’t quite believe. “That Fleamont uses his potions talent to make hair products-such a waste. Their son had better not be in Slytherin with Sirius, I don’t want him fraternizing with people whose ambitions amount to hair.”

Alphard chuckles, and Walburga harrumphs. Sirius nearly jumps out of his skin when Regulus touches his leg.

“Play with me!” He whispers. Sirius nods and follows his brother to the play room, but his mind is spinning. He’s got to figure out a way to get Regulus to show some magic. What did Dad say about accidental magic? 

Regulus has surrounded their wooden castle with dragons and is commanding troops for defense. Sirius watches for a moment, then jumps out from behind the door. Regulus shrieks and falls over, but nothing else happens.

“Sirius! That was not nice.” They argue about who commands the troops and who commands the dragons (Sirius always wants to be the dragons) until Kreacher insists they go outside. As they file through the house, Sirius sees his father’s wand on a credenza. He pauses, glancing around. Orion is buried in papers at his desk across the hall. Walburga is nowhere to be found. Sirius slips the wand into his pocket.

Once they are alone in the garden, Sirius shows his brother. “Wands are supposed to help direct your magic, right? Maybe it will help you find yours.” Sirius holds out the wand, careful not to wave it. After several beats, Regulus grasps the wand handle. The brothers hold their breath. “Does it feel different?”

Regulus shakes his head. He lifts up the wand and waves it. There is a deafening crack, and both boys are blown off their feet. Regulus hits the brick retaining wall and crumples. 

The doors fly open, and their parents stream outside. Walburga turns, slowly taking in the scene before her. After several painful heartbeats, she points a long finger directly at Sirius. “Inside.” Sirius bolts.

He watches from between a crack in the curtains as Walburga levitates Regulus across the garden and guides his body into the parlor. A few moments later, someone touches Sirius’ shoulder, and he nearly jumps out of his skin-but it’s only Uncle Alphard. Suddenly, Sirius feels tears prickle his eyes. He clenches his fists and swipes them across his face angrily.

“I was just trying to help him find his magic.”

Alphard’s face twists with sadness, and he squeezes Sirius’ shoulder. “He’ll find it.” He frowns at Sirius for a moment. “Sirius…” Alphard shakes his head and squeezes his nephew’s shoulder again. “Be a good lad, eh?”

It’s Sirius’ turn to frown. _They always say that,_ he thinks. _But they mean obey._

By the time Regulus returns to the house, his entire body is shaking with anger. “This is your fault!” He screams, standing on tiptoe to be closer to Sirius. “Why did you tell me to do that?”

Sirius opens his mouth, trying to remind Regulus of their sister, but the words seem stuck in his throat. He doesn’t speak as Walburga locks him in his room without supper. Her voice is softer than the click of the lock, but it reverberates like she’d shouted.

“You never think, Sirius.”

He closes his eyes, but all he can pull from his memory is the spot next to his name on the family tree.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#### July 15, 1968-Hay on Wye, Wales

Remus has finally gotten his newest bedroom the way he wants it. They’ve moved a bunch, the last couple years, but Da promises that this is the last one. They are much further out in the country now, and this house has a cellar for the full moon. 

There is a knock on the doorframe, and Lyall steps in. “There are very few people around, so you don’t have to worry so much about other children.”

Remus nods. They stare awkwardly at each other until Hope bursts in. Though she is the only non-magical family member, Remus thinks she glows. Her skirts brush against his bare feet as she leans over to plant several kisses on his forehead.

“Remus, dear, are you hungry?” Before he can answer, she’s sweeping out the door again. “I’ll just whip up some rarebit, yeah? Come down and wash up, love.” Lyall follows her, and, with one last glance at the photo of himself and his brother, Remus does as well. After all, rarebit is his favorite. 

Part way through dinner, Lyall is quizzing Remus on excuses for why he cannot play with other children. Hope slams her fork down.

“Really, Lyall. Must we do this at dinner?”

“It’s important, Hope. Remus needs to understand that-”

“He does understand. He goes through it every month!” Hope strokes Remus’ hair, and though it always makes him feel like a little kid, he never asks her to stop. There’s a knock at the door. His parents’ arguing stops, then Lyall practically bolts from the kitchen table. Hope pulls Remus against her chest, and he breathes in the fresh scent of laundry and the enigmatic mama smell.

“I know you know it’s important, love. You know how your father gets anxious whenever we move. Everything is going to be alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#### September 1, 1971-Hogwarts

Sirius is curled up on his brand new bed in Gryffindor Tower, equal parts terrified and elated. He can still hear his mother’s voice on Platform 9 ¾, reminding him what happens to people who embarass the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. 

James Potter is wrestling with another boy (Peter?) on the floor between their beds. Their fourth roommate has already pulled his bed curtains. His thoughts drift to Procyon. I wonder what house she would be in? Would she have been in Gryffindor, too? Would she have been able to come to Hogwarts at all?

There’s a tap on the window, and he pulls it open to let in a snowy owl. It drops a scroll on James’ head. He stops wrestling to give the owl a scratch, and it nips at his finger affectionately before flying away.

“You’ve got a letter already? We’ve only just arrived.” Peter is watching James with pure adoration on his face. Sirius rolls his eyes at them. Just as he turns to shut the window, another owl swoops in. This one drops a letter at Sirius’ feet and swoops out without stopping. He eyes it suspiciously, but is relieved to note that it isn’t red and smoking.

James lets out a whoop. “Mum is so proud, she’s sending a Honeydukes basket tomorrow!” He turns to Sirius, who has not picked up his own letter. “You alright, mate?”

Sirius shrugs, and his arm knocks the side table, causing a book to fall. An photograph of two boys slides across the floor. Peter picks it up.

“Is that Remus?”

James bends over Peter. “They look like twins.”

Sirius rips the photograph from Peter’s hand and stuffs it back in the book. “You two certainly are nosy.” Then he throws himself into bed and yanks the curtains shut.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#### September 8, 1971-Hogwarts

It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since Remus returned from the hospital wing, and no one has asked him where he disappeared to. Perhaps this will be easier than he thought. But no, it’s only the first month. No one has had time to become suspicious yet.

“You must be ever vigilant, Remus,” his da’s voice echoes in his head. So Remus hikes his bag higher on his shoulder and marches in to Charms.

They are halfway through their _Wingardium Leviosa_ lesson when Remus notices Sirius staring. He’d actually noticed it earlier, but dismissed it as Sirius trying to follow Remus’ wand motions. By the end of class, he’s talked himself down from more than a few panic attacks. He pulls together all his courage and pulls Sirius into an empty classroom on the way down to lunch.

“Why do you keep staring at me?”

Sirius swallows, opens his mouth. Closes it. “I saw your photograph.” When Remus stares at him, he swallows again. “It fell out of your book. It’s your twin, right?”

Remus feels like he might throw up, but he isn’t sure if it’s from fear or relief. “Yes. His name was Romulus.”

“Oh.” Sirius knocks the heel of one shoe against the toe of the other. “Was?”

The knuckles of Remus’ hand turn white around his bag strap. “He died.” Then he brushes past Sirius and out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#### December 4, 1971-Hogwarts

For the first time since he lost Procyon, Sirius is happy. James isn’t exactly like having a twin again, but he’s a lot closer than Regulus ever got. Something about them just...syncs. Sirius does have a tickle in the back of his mind that Blacks are not supposed to like Potters, but he dismisses it quickly. After all, he and James just fit. 

Remus keeps himself to himself, mostly. He did start helping Peter with his DODA homework, so they’ve been hanging out as a group in their dorm. But Sirius hasn’t talked to him one-on-one since that awkward moment back in September. Not for lack of trying. Sirius has never met anyone who was a twin before, let alone someone who lost a twin, and he’s desperate for someone who understands. 

At first, Sirius thought he wasn’t paying attention enough. But he’s starting to get suspicious of Remus’ absences, and wondering if the other boy is actively avoiding him. Sometimes he’s it seems like he’s gone all night; at least, he hasn’t come back before Sirius ends up falling asleep. Remus doesn’t seem like a rule-breaker (though Sirius does get a rush of happiness at the memory of Remus smiling at one of his pranks). 

Tomorrow, they will be going home for winter holidays. Sirius stares dejectedly into his half-empty trunk, holding a pair of socks. He jumps when the door opens. Remus steps past him, and for once Sirius doesn’t turn to watch him. He’s too caught up in his own Christmas sadness. He doesn’t notice that Remus isn’t packing either, or that he looks particularly exhausted. 

Eventually, Sirius drops the socks into his trunk and throws himself onto his bed with a groan. Giggles pour out of the next bed over. Sirius turns his head enough to see with one eye that Remus is snorting behind his hand. He is flooded equally with indignation at being laughed at, and pride at causing giggles.

“What?”

Remus lowers his hand, but he’s still smiling. “I never would have guessed that a Black could be so...disorganized.” His amber eyes sweep over the piles around Sirius’ bed. 

Sirius frowns. Over the term, he has discovered that the name of Black is not quite as far reaching as his parents wish. He’s equally uncomfortable when he is associated with them, or separated from them. His gaze falls on the haphazard piles of books  
next to Remus’ bed. “You aren’t so adept at packing, yourself.”

Remus shrugs. “I’m staying.”

“I wish I could,” Sirius blurts without thinking. Remus opens his mouth, but Sirius is saved from the questions by James and Peter bursting in, arms full of cauldron cakes.

“We’ve found the kitchens!” James whoops triumphantly as he tosses one at Sirius, and then to Remus.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
_April 30, 1972-Hogwarts_

Remus can’t breathe. Partially because he’s just run up all the stairs in the astronomy tower, but mostly because he’s been found out. He thought he’d been being so careful-friendly enough, but not letting anyone in. But in January, Sirius and James started wondering where he disappeared to. 

I should have gone to Dumbledore, he thinks, hands digging into his knees, chest tight. I could have been more careful. I shouldn’t have started helping them with pranks. I should have come up with more plausible excuses. I should have- There’s a shuffle of shoes on stone. Remus whirls around, but doesn’t see anything.

“Who’s there?” His voice shakes. After several beats, he turns back toward the window. I can’t go back there, he thinks. I need to find Dumbledore’s office and tell him I need to go home.

“Remus?”

He spins around to Sirius standing at the top of the stairs, holding a silvery fabric. Remus opens his mouth to assure Sirius that he will be leaving, don’t worry, Sirius is safe from-

“Remus, we don’t care.”

Remus blinks. “What?”

The silvery cloth falls the floor as Sirius steps forward. “You fold your socks, Remus. Sorry you aren’t the terrifying monster you’ve made yourself out to be in your head. We won’t tell anyone.”

Remus turns back to the window, but his body is flooded with relief. They stand in silence, staring out at the waning moon.

“I had a twin.” Sirius’ hands are gripping the window ledge. Remus stares at his long fingers. He debates what to say. If he asks, he’ll probably have to say what happened to Romulus. But they already know he’s a werewolf.

“What happened?” 

Sirius shrugs, then slides down the wall to sit on the floor. “I don’t know, exactly. She disappeared on Christmas, after our fifth birthday. She was blasted off the family tree.” Remus sinks down next to him, and Sirius slowly drags his head across the brick until his head is on Remus’ shoulder. After a moment, Sirius speaks again. “I was forbidden from speaking about her.” He snorts. “Actually, for a while I thought they spelled it so I couldn’t speak her name. But I guess they didn’t. Procyon.”

Remus bites his lip. He wants to make Sirius feel better, but he doesn’t know how to fix this. He knows it’s not something he can fix. “Romulus...he died the night I got bitten.”

Sirius’ head leaves his shoulder, and Remus can feel his piercing stare. “So...you were there? When…?”

Remus nods. He glares at the floor, because if he closes his eyes, his vision will be filled with Romulus, his neck mostly separated from his body. For a time, the only thing Remus can hear is his own heart. Then Sirius takes his hand and hauls him up.

“Come on, Rem. Let’s get back to bed.”

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#### June 10, 1977-Hogwarts Express

Sirius boards the Hogwarts Express alone for the first time in six years. He’s used to the sneers of the Slytherins by now; it’s the Gryffindors he’s not used to dodging. Of course, there are only four Gryffindors who really know what happened-but the rest of them picked up on something.

He finds an empty compartment and collapses on the bench. When the train finally starts, it still isn’t loud enough to drown out the voices echoing in his head.

James: “What were you thinking?”

Remus: “He never thinks.”

Peter: “He wasn’t thinking.”

Walburga: “You never think, Sirius.”

Suddenly he’s eight years old again, and the clinking of the sconce is Walburga’s heels clicking as she walked down the hall. Now, as then, he curls his body as small as he can. Remus’ voice turns high and sharp, his pain-filled amber eyes harden and tarnish. Walburga is hissing in his ear, Regulus is glaring accusingly. Procyon is on the other side of the curtain-she’s just hiding. If he could move the curtain, he could see her.

“Stop thinking, Sirius!”

“You never think.”

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#### February 12, 1980-Chelsea

Their flat seems suspiciously empty, since James and Lily moved out. After graduation, the Marauders had been so desperate to stay together, to have any kind of security in the War. Sirius had immediately offered up Alphard’s flat in Chelsea as a new residence. Between Order missions and job trainings, there was hardly a time when there were more than two people there anyway.

Remus shifts in his sleep, and Sirius waves his wand at the window, pulling the curtain more tightly shut. Last night’s moon was rougher on him than normal. Remus will blame the war, when Sirius asks him about it later. But Sirius knows the truth, even if neither of them will say it out loud.

Romulus died in February. This is Remus’ wolf anniversary. 

So Sirius digs out the good tea leaves that he’s been hiding, and the last bar of Honeyduke’s. He heats the last of Lily’s beef stew, and casts stasis charms over everything. Then he carefully climbs into bed, pulling Remus against his side. Remus whimpers and nuzzles closer.

Later, they will wake up, and pretend that all the stress is from the war, and half of it isn’t stuck in their own memories. Sirius will pout at Remus until he eats an entire bowl of stew, and Remus will give in more quickly than usual to back massages and couch cuddling. 

But for now, Sirius thinks about Procyon, and Romulus, and which of the four of them would leave their boots in the walkway, and whether Romulus liked rarebit as much as Remus.

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#### July 18, 1985-12 Grimmauld Place, Islington

“Sopsy? Sopsy!” Walburga’s voice echoes down the hall. Kreacher glances at the bust of his mother on the wall, then appears at Walburga’s bedside with a crack.

“Mother is not being here, Mistress.” He pats Walburga’s fever-drenched forehead with a cool cloth. “Mother is being dead for many years. It is only Kreacher here, Mistress.”

Walburga mumbles incoherently for a few moments before her eyes seem to focus on Kreacher. Her hand clutches at his tiny arm. “Oh Kreacher, your poor mother. She died for you, you know. You serve her better than my children ever served me.”

“Will Mistress be wanting soup?” Kreacher extracts his arm and produces a steaming bowl. Walburga turns her head away.

“No, I’m too upset to eat. That wretched girl has trampled my daturas again. Useless child, where has she run off to now?” Walburga shifts to sit up, and Kreacher scrambles to help her.

“She is dead, Mistress.” He replies, smoothing out the covers. He produces a glass of water. “Is Mistress wanting a drink?”

Walburga accepts the glass, then sighs dramatically. “I will need something stronger than this, Kreacher, to deal with that boy. Being sorted into Gryffindor was bad enough, and then he had to go and befriend a Potter! I did not raise him this way.” She pierces Kreacher with a glare. “Regulus, my darling, don’t make my heart break again. You’ll bring honor to the name of Black, won’t you?”

Kreacher finishes arranging lunch on a lap tray, and bows. “Enjoy your lunch, Mistress.” He backs out of the room, and stops by the parlor on his way to the kitchens. The family tree mocks his Mistress, with its embarassing burned spots. His bones feel heavy. Soon, he will have to etch on the death date of the last Black.

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#### June 18, 1996-Department of Mysteries

_The second jet of light hit Sirius squarely in the chest._

__The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock._ _

__He felt his body falling, and a wind tore through the veil behind him, wordless murmerings filling his ears. Just as the curtain brushed his arm, a stronger wind burst out, knocking him to the side. “Not yet, Snuffles,” a small voice whispered. Sirius hit the floor with a thud._ _

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#### November 9, 1996-Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, Diagon Alley

__“Really, Sirius, this is ridiculous-woah!” Remus clutches onto Sirius as he slips on the icy cobblestones. Sirius just grins, blowing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. They stop in front of the most brightly lit store on the street. Remus furrows his brow. “We’ve been here loads of times.”_ _

__Fred Weasley opens the door of his joke shop and waves them in. Sirius pushes Remus toward the door, leaning in to whisper, “Welcome to your new job!”_ _

__Remus spins in the doorway. “What?” But Fred is pulling on his other hand, and Sirius is waving goodbye and walking back up the street. Remus turns to find identical faces grinning at him. “I…”_ _

__“Sirius mentioned that you might be needing a job.”_ _

__“Somewhere where your employers understand your…furry little problem.”_ _

__Remus groans and runs a hand over his face. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t think I’m a good-”_ _

__George claps him on the shoulder. “Nonsense, Professor!”_ _

__“I’m not-”_ _

__Fred throws open the back door, revealing what looks like a lab. “Research!”_ _

__Remus’ fingers twitch as he takes in the work table, and the wall-to-wall bookshelves, and the cabinets of labeled ingredients. He swallows. “Research?”_ _

__The twins nod. “It may have been mentioned to us that you were really the brains of the Marauder operation.”_ _

__Remus is filled with an overwhelming urge to hug Sirius, and also slap him. He opens and closes his mouth. The twins pat him on the back. “Let us know if you need anything, Professor!”_ _

__“I’m not-”_ _

__The door slams, and he hears the twins greeting their first customers of the day. Later, he tells himself. Later, I am going to have a very firm discussion with Sirius. But right now, there are books, and ingredients, and an empty cauldron._ _

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#### May 25, 1998-The Burrow

__Sirius and Remus stroll across the yard, holding hands. When the reach the front door, Sirius raises his hand to knock, but pauses, glancing at his lover. “You ready?” No other person would notice the miniscule clench in Remus’ jaw, but Sirius does. He runs his thumb over Remus’ knuckles, then knocks on the door with his other hand._ _

__Rather than the typical Burrow brouhaha, they are greeted with silence. Arthur ushers them into the kitchen, where Molly silently begins preparing tea. After a painful few minutes of small talk, Remus clears his throat. “It’s always wonderful to see you. But we actually came to see George.”_ _

__Molly and Arthur stare at them. Arthur seems to pull himself together first. “He’s in his room.”_ _

__They nod and make their way upstairs, knocking on the door, but opening it before George can finish yelling “Go away!” He is curled up on his bed, with his back to the room. Sirius sits near his head, Remus near his feet._ _

__“George, Remus and I…” Sirius glances up. They’ve talked and talked about this, but never specifically what they would say. Only that it needed to be done. Remus reaches over and squeezes Sirius’ knee._ _

__“Sirius and I have some stories we would like to tell you. You don’t need to talk. We just want you to listen.”_ _


End file.
